immediately, though not very fluently
by Pencilwalla
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki is married to Viktor Nikiforov to avoid the scandal of being compromised. Or so it seems. The truth is more complicated. [a romance written mostly in letters]


Dearest Yuuri,

This is the first love letter I have ever written, and I beg you to forgive any errors I may make; but then, as you will never read this letter, I supposed I may make them as I please. Were your feelings as affectionate as mine, I should pen a very different letter to you, full of sweet nothings and pretty nonsense. But as they are not, I have decided to consign this letter to the fire instead.

Thus do I begin! Before we ever met, there were rumors of you. I suppose every debutante is called the season's beauty by someone, if only their own family, to increase their consequence. But you are the first I have ever seen where the rumors fell short, rather than be overstated. We were at a ball together—somehow I had contrived an invitation—and we were in the first set. You were at the beginning of the line, and I was at the end, and so I was able to be entirely uncivil to my partner as I watched you dance instead. You were reserved, but as the night went on, you unbent—smiled—laughed.

In that moment, I prayed fervently that somehow we might meet again. Forgive me, my dear, for my hasty prayers were answered, though not in the manner either of us would have chosen, and very much at your expense. Le me assure you that I never imagined anyone could be so degenerate as to abandon you barely decent on the side of the road, barefoot and soaked and vulnerable to all the evils of the world. There is still a part of me that wishes to seek out that man, and give him the thrashing he so richly deserves.

I will not lie to you. I did enjoy sweeping you into my arms and carrying into my house.

If I could only tell you, my love, how much I have despised that estate! How much I have hated the dark and dusty rooms, Mrs. Lowe's screeching, the way every square inch of the place is heavy with unhappy memories—how much I have grown to love it, merely by dint of your presence there. Your bell-like laughter cleansed the air, your conversation made me forget the cold and the draft, your fine eyes made Mrs. Lowe's atrocious cooking almost delicious. I must confess an ungentlemanly preference for arguing with you about magical theory; I realize that it is the fashion to merely agree with whatever you say, but I suspect that it would not please you.

And as long as I am making ungentlemanly confessions, sweet Yuuri, I will admit that the rain rendered your dress quite transparent. I did my best to avert my eyes but—well, I will only say that I am assured that your hair is naturally that color.

If it were in my power to make us cross paths again, I would make it so. But we will not. You will marry that idiotic Jean Jacques (whom I think I would despise, even if he were not engaged to you) and I will be left to nurse this passion, this unceasing and selfish and unrequited passion. Even so, my Yuuri, I love you.

I love you with every drop of my blood and with every ounce of my flesh and every one of my breaths.

Ever yours,

Viktor Nikiforov

* * *

Dear Mari,

I am writing to you to beg your help, for I have found myself in a tenuous situation.

While staying at Viscount Hampton's family estate, I woke up to find him and two of his friends in my bedchamber. I screamed. Then I set one of them on fire. There was a great commotion, and I was thrown from the house.

Be assured I am safe now, as Mr. Nikiforov rescued me, but I cannot return to town with him without risking further scandal. I beg you, come to his estate at once and retrieve me. It is very cold here, and Mr. Nikiforov is very handsome, and I must leave.

Your affectionate brother,

Yuuri

* * *

Viscount Hampton,

I congratulate you, sir, on being the most degenerate scoundrel I have ever heard of. Having spoken to my brother, who is no doubt only one of many of the victims of your immoral behavior, I charge you to behave honorably or face me at dawn. I charge you with the following:

That you did accost my brother, a guest in your house, in his bedchamber in the middle of the night That you did attempt to impose yourself on him and then insulted him roundly when he rightfully defended himself That you did then blame the entire sorry debacle on my brother when your family came to Yuuri's aid That you allowed your mother, a woman as vile as you are by all accounts, to leave my brother on the side of the road during a snowstorm, alone and unprotected That you spread a number of unsavory falsehoods regarding my brother's conduct in order to conceal your own depravity

You are no gentleman. You are no better than an animal; I have met asses and rats with more honor. I demand satisfaction, Hampton. And I advise you to not to waste a moment. From what I have heard, Mr. Nikiforov is both an excellent shot and possessed of a number of ways to hide an inconvenient corpse, and less inclined on the whole to mind the niceties of honor.

Lady Mari Katsuki

* * *

Dearest, loveliest Yuuri,

This is the second letter I have addressed to you with no thought of you reading it. But I have improved since my last, for this time I first penned one that I sent. We are engaged now, after all, and it would look odd to have no correspondence between us. That was a very different letter than this one—much less bold, considerably less explicit. I hope, if it does not please you, that at least it will not displease you.

I find it hard to know what kind of husband you wish me to be, my love, but I will endeavor to meet your expectations. I was shocked beyond measure when you insisted we be wed, but if a marriage of convenience is what you desire, I will oblige.

Forgive me for not calling on you as often as I ought, but the problem of Lady Lidge and her wretched sons has demanded my attention. Your family has said there is not much they can do, without risking your reputation further, but I have no loyalty to their kind of honor, and there is little Lady Lidge can do to me, particularly when her husband owes me a sum greater than ten thousand pounds. You are wondering if I am a gamester, to be owed such a debt! Nothing as exciting as that, my dear; it is only that Lord Lidge, like many peers of the realm, seems to believe that he does not need to pay the tradesmen and shopkeepers he buys from. And while none of them can risk their businesses pressing him for payment, I am happy to buy up the debts and demand repayment in full.

I do not believe Lord Lidge is suited for debtor's prison, and so do not be surprised if the family tries to insinuate themselves to you in the future. Cut them if you like.

And in regards to Viscount Hampton and his worthless brother, Yuuri, there is another matter I must broach to you here, since I have yet to catch you alone long enough to do so in person. Some of the rumors spread by them suggest that they

It will make no material difference to me whether they did or not. I only wish to know if they hurt you to avoid myself ever causing you pain. Darling mine, be assured that I have no intention of imposing myself on you against your will or your inclination. Well bred omegas are kept in ignorance; I cannot see any sense in forcing your education.

Someday, I hope, your affections might be won; my attentions might be more welcome. Should that happy time every arrive, I promise to devote myself very faithfully to your pleasure.

Darling, if you only knew. I want to bite you. I want to put my hands under your bodice, my mouth under your skirts, and myself, deep within your soaking wet folds, your lips on my lips, your arms around me. Perhaps someday you will long for me with equal fervor.

I will see you tomorrow, before the parson and God.

My heart remains in your hands.

Yours, always,

Viktor Nikiforov

* * *

Dear Phichit,

I am writing you out of pure desperation. I realize that a letter like this, explicit and perverse, will only fuel your worst tendencies, but there is no one else I can trust. Please do not judge me too harshly for what you are about to read, and for God's sake, after you have read it, burn this letter.

There is both good news and bad news. The good is that I was right, and Mr. Nikiforov is indeed a gentleman in every sense of the word.

The bad news is that I have turned out to be every bit as wanton as Viscount Hampton and Lady Lidge said.

After dinner, Mr. Nikiforov and I parted. I locked myself in my chambers and sent away the maid. It was more difficult than I expected to remove the gown without help, but I managed it without the humiliation of asking Mr. Nikiforov for help. It was then that I began making preparations for the consummation. Did I leave my nightgown on, or remove it? Did I lie beneath the covers, or atop them? Did I put out the lights, or leave them on?

All of the lighting in Mr. Nikiforov's home is magical, so I could not put it out without reminding him of my indiscretions; the room was warm, so there was no sense in burrowing beneath the blankets. The idea of Mr. Nikiforov removing my nightgown was horrifying, so I removed it myself.

It was while I was arranging myself on the counterpane in what I hoped was a seductive yet modest fashion that the connecting door opened and Mr. Nikiforov appeared. I screamed. He stared very pointedly at the ceiling while I put on my dressing gown, but it was made of sheer lace and upon looking at me, he decided the ceiling was more to his taste.

He tried to wish me a good night; I lost my senses and quarreled with him about my virtue. He assured him that he would not touch me; I begged that he would.

"This is my only right as a married omega," I said. "Would you deny me it?"

"I should hope you never felt I denied you anything," he said, and he came and sat beside me.

And he did not.

You were right that Viktor probably keeps a mistress, as he had to have learned to do…that…somewhere. But you were wrong about my having to endure anything.

I did not know anyone could do that with their mouth. Marriage is certainly enlightening.

Yuuri

* * *

Dear Minako,

I am writing to ask

I wish to know

There must be a way for omegas to seduce their alphas after they are married but I don't know

Please help me, I

* * *

Dear Minako,

Thank you for your kind gift of new dancing slippers. I am sure I will have occasion to wear them soon, as my husband has said that we will be attending a public assembly on Friday. I hope that everything is well at home. Has my sister's cough improved? Tell her to drink that ginger tea she hates so much.

Everything is fine here.

Yuuri

* * *

Dear Yuuri,

Enclosed are the etiquette manuals you requested! No, do not make that face, I am joking. These are the salacious novels you requested, though I cannot imagine why you need them. Your reputation was rescued by a handsome but unrefined tradesman! You are in a salacious novel! Stop reading and do write and tell me exactly what he did with his mouth, I am all aflutter with curiosity.

Yours,

Phichit

* * *

Seduction Materials:

Pink stockings

Chemise

Water (for dampening)

Champagne (for courage)

Oil?

* * *

Mr. Nikiforov,

When you are finished with your work, if you could attend me, I would much appreciate it. I am in my bedchamber.

Yuuri

Yuuri,

My dear, I will wait on you directly. I can spare a few minutes between meetings. Are you ill? My study is only a short walk from your room.

Viktor

* * *

Mr. Nikiforov,

There is no hurry. Please come after your work is done.

Yuuri

Yuuri,

Very well, I see you require more than a few minutes of my time. But must you address these notes so formally? My given name is Viktor, though I am called 'Vitya' by my friends. Surely either of those are more intimate than Mr. Nikiforov, which makes you seem like one of my clerks.

Viktor

* * *

Vitya,

I have changed my mind. Do come at once.

Yuuri

* * *

Pink.

Yuuri has never worn clothing like this before. "You look like a harlot," Phichit tells him when Yuuri models them for him, and when Yuuri has wet his petticoat and put on his stockings, he cannot help but agree. In the mirror his legs are obvious beneath his transparent skirts; he has foregone a chemise as well, and the effect is immodest at best. His nipples are visible. Minako, Yuuri thinks, would not approve.

But Yuuri is tired of hoping for Viktor's attentions. Tired of wondering what is wrong with him. Tired of wondering if Viktor resents being saddled with him. Viktor had promised, after Yuuri sent him a number of notes in the afternoon (and how odd the servants must think them) to come—but then he had not. And so Yuuri's confidence is shaken.

Yuuri does not have the courage to stride into Viktor's bedchamber dressed this way, not yet, and so a trial is in order. Therefore, he and Phichit are to go to a masquerade, on a night where Viktor is not at home and so will not catch him. Phichit is to bring his carriage around, and so Yuuri, having put on his earbobs and a matching white collar, starts to go down into the foyer to await him.

"Yuuri."

"V-Viktor!"

"Are you—" Viktor stops speaking abruptly. He is staring. Yuuri watches, fascinated, as his ears turn red.

"I thought you were out…"

"No."

Viktor crosses the hall to his side. Yuuri forces himself to stand straight under the weight of his gaze, which falls hot and heavy on his skin. He is not doing anything wrong. It is a masquerade, Yuuri thinks, but Viktor glances down the line of his body, to the apex of Yuuri's thighs. In preparation for this event, Yuuri submitted to a painful and bizarre procedure involving hot wax to remove all the hair. He was informed by the omega who recommended it that his alpha would appreciate it. (Viktor had better appreciate it.)

"You had better tighten this," Viktor says, finally, after he has seemingly committed Yuuri's body to memory. He touches with two fingers just beneath Yuuri's jaw. "May I?"

Yuuri nods.

Viktor unties his collar, which has no buttons as is decent, only a tiny hook and eye concealed beneath a ostentatious white bow. Beneath it Yuuri can feel the faint heat of his mating gland, reacting to Viktor's nearness. Slowly, Viktor strokes the line of his throat, into the notch at the base of it, before he presses down on that flushed, sensitive place. He draws soft, feather-light circles over it, until Yuuri feels an answering heat between his thighs, until Yuuri feels weak in the knees. Viktor growls something, in Russian so that Yuuri does not understand, and for a moment he thinks it a reprimand.

Then Viktor bends him back over his arm and presses his mouth to Yuuri's neck, and Yuuri forgets entirely about everything. He seizes the back of Viktor's coat as Viktor sucks at his mating gland like it's the manna of heaven, his teeth scraping over the skin, his tongue dragging over it until Yuuri is burning, certain he'll die if Viktor stops—

"I should let you go."

"Why?" Yuuri can think of no reason he ought to be let go; he would like nothing better than for Viktor to drag him upstairs and ravish him.

"Because if you stay, I can't promise I won't beg you to let me mark you," Viktor says hoarsely. He leaves one last kiss against Yuuri's throat before setting him upright. Yuuri stands there obediently, too overcome to do anything but gasp, while Viktor refastens his collar. The fabric is as light as air and near transparent, but it still chafes over his flushed mating gland. "You are going to the masquerade?"

"Yes," Yuuri says, "because Phichit wished particularly to go and needs a chaperone. I am sure it will be very boring—no one wants to dance with a married omega—" _Ask me to stay,_ he thinks.

"I would bet every penny I have that you will dance every set," Viktor says.

He leaves Yuuri alone in the hall. It takes several minutes for Yuuri to remember that Phichit must be out in the street waiting for him; he scrambles down the steps, ignoring the odd look of the butler as he passes, ignoring with great difficulty the slick trickling down his thighs.

* * *

When Yuuri returns, he ought to be tired. Viktor was right—Yuuri was asked to dance every set, to the point where he was obligated to refuse a number of partners because he was already engaged. He refused the last dance, though; he has no wish to waltz with anyone but Viktor. All through supper he ate without tasting a morsel; he did not finish his glass of wine, though he was parched.

 _Is he angry with me? Is he upset? I must know._

"You seem uncommonly distracted," Phichit said. "What is it? Are you worried he will disapprove?"

"No," Yuuri said, "I am fine."

Phichit looked skeptical, but he pressed Yuuri's hand and promised to call tomorrow afternoon, that they might dissect the masquerade and the guest's costumes and the poor manners of their dance partners. Then Yuuri was left standing in the foyer, in the dark, his dress still damp with sweat, wondering if Viktor had retired yet.

My maid will have gone to bed, Yuuri thinks, for he had dismissed Minami before going out. His dress is not meant to be removed unaided, but Yuuri is flexible, he might manage. He climbs the dark stairs in silence and finds the door to his bedchamber, hoping there will still be a lamp lit.

There is. And sitting beside it is Viktor, a snifter of liquor in hand, watching him the way hawks watch mice before they swoop in for the kill.

"Good evening."

"Yes," Yuuri replies.

"Dare I hope," Viktor asks, "that some of this might be for my benefit?" His voice is not steady, and Yuuri comprehends, suddenly, that Viktor might too be afraid, that he too might long for Yuuri without Yuuri knowing. Yuuri feels a rush of affection for him. Viktor had agreed to marry him, though Yuuri could not have been his first choice, and even so he treats Yuuri with great care.

"I want you to look at me."

"I do look at you."

"Not the way I want," Yuuri says. "Because you haven't—not since that night—"

Viktor kisses him.

Yuuri does not see him stand—one moment he is speaking his halting piece, and the next Viktor has him in his arms, kissing him like he intends to draw all the breath from Yuuri's lungs. All the florid descriptions of kissing in the world do not do it justice. Viktor's hand on his jaw, holding him steady, and Viktor's tongue in his mouth, and Viktor's lips against his lips—kissing him is raw, and physical, and Yuuri presses himself against Viktor like he might coax him by proximity to never stop.

"Please," Yuuri whispers as Viktor shifts his attentions, mouth wandering down his jaw, his neck, his bare shoulder. "Please, I—"

"Turn around and let me undress you," Viktor says. "Unless you would rather I just lifted your skirts and fucked you?"

Yuuri would rather, but he would hate to ruin this dress and then need it to seduce Viktor later.

"Take it off."

The speed at which Viktor unbuttons Yuuri's dress, despite not being able to see the buttons, suggests prior experience. Yuuri digs his fingers into Viktor's coat, jealous beyond all measure. The bodice slips down, until the dress is bunched at his hips; Viktor slides it over them so that it pools about Yuuri's ankles.

"Did you go out without a chemise," Viktor asks, voice strangled.

Yuuri flushes all the way down his bare chest, acutely aware of the way his nipples are tightening in the chill. "Yes?"

"At least you wore a petticoat."

"I dipped it in water first."

Viktor laughs as he tugs down the straps of Yuuri's petticoat and drags it down over his hips to join his gown. "The way it clings, it would have been less indecent to go without—"

The stockings beneath Yuuri's dress are pink. Yuuri had to ask Phichit to send one of his maids to buy them, in fear that someone would find out Yuuri had bought them and know that he couldn't coax his own husband into bed. They are held up by Yuuri's everyday garters, white and lacy and frayed. When Yuuri initially dawned them, he felt that his legs looked more like sausages than anything else.

Viktor traces the top of the stocking with his fingers.

"Your garters are white."

"I haven't any pink ones."

"I'll buy you some," Viktor says distantly. He guides Yuuri backwards to the bed, and lifts him onto it; as he pushes Yuuri down, hands on his shoulders, Yuuri reaches down to undo his garter. "Leave them on."

Yuuri's thighs are pulled apart. He shivers in anticipation, remembering the way Viktor had pleasured him the first time. His cocklet is swelling, his lips are parting as if in invitation as slick trickles out—he hears Viktor inhale sharply as he spreads Yuuri open with his thumbs. He massages the plump flesh on either side of Yuuri's cunt, opening him, closing him, until Yuuri's whole sex throbs sweetly with wanting.

"I can see inside you like this."

"Vitya—"

Viktor kisses the inside of his thigh. Yuuri squirms, trying to shift his attentions where Yuuri wants them, but Viktor only firms up his grip on his leg. He kisses every inch of skin between Yuuri's garter and stocking, every bit of it that he can reach, wet soft kisses that linger over the scent gland there. Viktor bites at his scent gland, just hard enough that the pain is a bright contrast to the pleasure.

Viktor's warmth breath ghosts over Yuuri's entrance. Yuuri whimpers, but it's too late: Viktor's attentions have shifted to the other thigh. He snaps the garter against Yuuri's leg, digs his nails in underneath it, until finally Yuuri protests. The high, keening sound he makes is embarrassing, but Viktor obeys his wordless request.

He begins slowly, licking the creases on either side of Yuuri's sex as he spreads it open, his tongue just flicking the sides of Yuuri's cocklet. His mouth presses against Yuuri's entrance, kissing it the way he'd kissed Yuuri's mouth, tongue touching Yuuri deep inside so that he tugs on Viktor's hair to keep it inside him. Yuuri did not know that there was this much pleasure to be had; he did not know that it would be this satisfying to be wanted by Viktor, even just like this, even if it is only in this way.

Even half of everything is better than nothing.

"Yuuri," Viktor says, as he slips a finger inside him, "let me have you."

"Please," Yuuri says.

He pulls at Viktor until Viktor is beside him on the bed, and climbs onto Viktor's knees, astride his lap, so close Yuuri's nipples are brushing his shirt. Viktor fumbles between them, first to take off his shirt, then to undo the fall of his trousers; Yuuri half-wishes to undress him, but that would require him to move further away. Later, Yuuri thinks, suddenly giddy with relief that there might be a later.

He reaches beneath himself to grip Viktor's cock. Yuuri has never actually touched Viktor like this before, and knows from experience that if he lingers on that thought he will lose his nerve. Instead he guides it until the tip is pressed against his wet hole, and eases it inside him, and then slides down to sheath it fully, all at once.

Viktor curses, loudly, in what might be Russian and what might be mangled English. He puts his hands on Yuuri's hips, coaxing him to move. Yuuri moves, hesitantly, until he shifts enough that Viktor's cock drives against that sweet sensitive place inside him.

Atop him like this, Yuuri has control. He can hold himself against Viktor, his arms around Viktor's neck to hold Viktor's face against his throat; he can fuck himself on Viktor's cock slowly while Viktor's nails bite impatiently into his skin; he can forget everything but the way Viktor smells, the way it makes Yuuri feel endlessly safe and warm and alive.

Yuuri rolls his hips, reveling in the way Viktor feels inside him. The way Viktor fills him. The way Yuuri's cocklet is scraping against Viktor's body. The way, with Viktor's teeth digging into his mating gland so hard he draws blood, Yuuri can pretend that he and Viktor are bound by more than friendship and honor and convenience.

He moans out Viktor's name in a way he will ashamed of in the morning—Viktor's hand slips between their bodies to fondle his cocklet—he's overcome by a storm of pleasure—he climaxes, trembling held tight in Viktor's arms.

"No, stay," Viktor whispers, and Yuuri, who had argued with Viktor about being rescued from the roadside in a snowstorm, stills at once.

Yuuri is too overset for any rational conversation, with Viktor's seed still inside him and blood drying over his mating gland, with Viktor still so close Yuuri can feel his heart beating under his hand. Viktor licks at his neck until the sting eases. Will it scar? Yuuri can only hope so.

* * *

Dear Phichit,

Thank you for sending the novels. They were of great assistance. Please never wear pink stockings or dampen your petticoats, for you will certainly drive whatever alpha sees you into a frenzy.

I will write properly later. At the moment Viktor is waking up, and I should attend him.

Your friend,

Yuuri

* * *

Dear Yuuri,

I write to you on a cold and rainy evening. Fall is dreary here in the north, and neither the lodgings nor the food have done anything to improve it. Even the fires here seem to generate less heat. I beg your forgiveness for not writing immediately, but there was a flood only hours after I arrived. Every able-bodied alpha was needed to rescue those who were trapped, and build up the bullwarks against the rising water.

I am dry now, at least, and ensconced safely in my rooms at the inn. The man I have come here to do business with offered my a room at his home, but it would not due to accept his hospitality before our business partnership was all settled. The bed at this inn is inadequate, my dear, and I have hardly slept an hour before being compelled to rise, and walk about.

Our business I think will be fruitful, and with some effort we may even see a return on our investment by spring. And there will be a chance to import that which is very rare here in England. I have obtained for you some yards of a silk that are so fine, so soft, they may yet do justice to you. I hope that the color will suit your tastes. (It is a dark blue. You told me you favored blue, once. And to be frank, my love, I do not know that I can ever see your in pink again, and hope to maintain my equanimity in public.)

Dear one, I hope that you have had a chance to see your family, and to perhaps host a small dinner for them. Indeed I am sure you must miss them. Christophe promised me to attend you while I was gone; if you require an escort somewhere, you have only to send word to him. I have monopolized you terribly, I think, since we were married, and of course it will not do for you to have no amusement.

Is there anything else I should bring for you? Anything at all?

Your servant,

Viktor Nikiforov

* * *

Dear Vitya,

Everything is well here. My sister and Minako did come to visit one morning. I gave them a tour of the house, and showed them the gardens, and then after a light supper we went to Bond Street to shop. We bought several things. I hope you will like them. If you do not I can wear them when you are not home.

If you are uncomfortable at the inn, perhaps you should take your business partner's offer after all, and rest more comfortably. I should not wish for you to be ill, especially when the weather is so poor. It has rained here, too, for three days. I cannot say I like it. I appreciate being warm and dry now more than I ever have.

I hope you will return soon.

Yours,

Yuuri Nikiforov

* * *

Dear Yuuri,

You are quite mistaken. It is not the bed itself that afflicts me, nor its relative warmth, dryness, or softness. No, it is that the bed remains empty. I find myself unable to sleep without you to fill it. And if you were here, and this were but a pile of hay in an old barn, I would sleep as well as anyone.

We are near an agreement here, Mr. Lee and I. He is a curious man; I should not like to have him over for dinner. He does not eat vegetables, any vegetables. I watched him eat nothing but meat and water for days, and could not help but find my own appetite quite reduced. For myself, at least, there was an attempt at more diverse fare. But his chef is out of practice. The meals are such that I finally gave myself leave to beg off and eat at the inn.

What do you like to eat, Yuuri? I have noticed that you prefer simpler dishes, but do not know what sort of things you ate at home. Was it very traditional? If there are recipes or ingredients more to your liking than are currently in use, you have only to say the word. It can very easily be done.

The rain here continues unabated. I suspect when I come home my valet will destroy these boots. I am glad to think of you warm and dry at home, darling. When I think of how you must have suffered due to Lady Lidge and Viscount Hampton's behavior…

I hope I will return to you soon. Indeed, in all my waking hours, I think of little else.

Always,

Viktor Nikiforov

* * *

Dear Phichit,

He has a mistress.

I know what you wrote before, that you thought he might hold me in some affection, but I have proof that it cannot be so. If he truly held me in esteem, he would not need to make other arrangements. Though his appetites must be prodigious (perhaps this is merely what alphas are like?). He comes to me quite regularly still. A part of me wishes to turn him away.

But I cannot. If he does have a mistress, surely it is because I do not satisfy him as I ought.

You are wondering, no doubt, what sort of proof I have. I have not seen them together; I have not heard anyone's name bandied about at parties. No, what happened is this: Viktor brought for me from his journey north the most beautiful silk, for a dress. It is a dark blue and from what I understand, it is very dear. At the time, I was pleased that he had thought of me, and even remembered what colors I like.

But then, while I was in his room, retrieving my dressing gown, I found another length of silk, wrapped in linen and hidden away. I know I should not have looked, Phichit, but that dressing gown was one I had stuffed out of the way, so that Viktor would not realize that while he was away I slept in his bed. And the silk that he had hidden was pink! Viktor wrote to me, explicitly, that I did not look well in pink. So it is for someone else, and as Viktor does not have a sister, it must be his lover.

I feel foolish, having poured through so many novels to convince him to bed me, only to find myself incapable of holding his attention for longer than a few months. I do not know why I thought I could.

Your friend,

Yuuri Nikiforov

* * *

Christophe,

If you would bring the name and address of that French modiste you spoke of to dinner, I would be much obliged to you. I understand that she specializes in the sort of nightgowns that are reserved for only married omegas, and I have some pink silk that I think would suit admirably.

Viktor

* * *

Dear Christophe,

Yuuri has treated me with such cold indifference lately that to be in his presence is near unbearable. You will read this and scoff, and complain of my being too much in his pocket. I do not see how a man in love can suffer from too much of the company of its object. Indeed, someday you will be as overcome as I am, and I will mock you greatly on that day.

But that is not my primary reason for writing you at this time. I have heard rumor that Lady Lidge has come to town. Naturally she has not dared to appear anywhere where I might have the pleasure of confronting her, but her degenerate progeny are here, wasting their money in gambling halls and on drunken revelry. I hope they bankrupt themselves and their families. And if they do not, I continue to hold Lord Lidge's debts, and have no intention of ceasing to press him for the funds. I have half a mind to play with Viscount Hampton myself; it would satisfy me to watch him throw away his coin in person. And if I could hold his debts I would have him in prison in a second. Alas, I think he is just intelligent enough to know if I see him I will thrash him.

You have entrance into society where I do not, and hear gossip that never reaches my ears. Pray find out what the truth of the matter is, and what I ought to do about it. If this is the matter that plagues my Yuuri, I will happily call Viscount Hampton out, and ensure his mother can never show her face in London again. As it is all I can do now is sit in silence and try not to impose too much upon him. I wish we had met properly, in a ballroom, in some romantic fashion instead!

Your friend,

Viktor

* * *

Dear Viktor,

You are easily the stupidest man in all England. I cannot imagine what flights of fancy exist in your mind, to believe there is no romance between you and your husband. Unbearable to be away from him! What is unbearable to be in the same room as him, for he cannot help but stare at you, and whenever you approach the room or leave it he can do nothing but look longingly at the door. He knows, too, when you are about; he never looks half so pleased when the footsteps are that of the maid.

No romance! Viktor, for a man who has read more novels than any alpha should, you remain woefully ignorant. Let me tell you what has occurred. Your husband was engaged, by his family, to an alpha whose only good quality was his lineage. He was imposed upon, and threatened, and thrown out in what I understand were inhumane conditions. And then, my friend, you swooped in like a hero to rescue him. You will bemoan the state of your house and the insupportable behavior of your housekeeper, but I would bet the contents of my purse that you no doubt carried him into the house, and settled him yourself in whatever part of the house was most comfortable, and suffered yourself in the cold and damp.

You will try to convince me that whatever occurred between you was nothing more than common courtesy, but I doubt that poor Yuuri, wrapped in your coat and under the full force of your concern, thought that it was excessively romantic. You are surprised he wanted you to marry him; I am surprised you continue to behave like an ignorant fool, instead of imposing yourself upon your husband nightly.

For god's sake, never mind Lady Lidge and her ilk. Tear off his new nightgown and have done with it.

Your friend, unfortunately,

Christophe Giacometti

* * *

Mr. Nikiforov,

I hope you will not be too offended that I have written to you myself, but forgive me on the basis that I have been Yuuri's friend for a long time. Of late his correspondence has lacked cheerfulness. I suspect you to be the cause. I hope you will heed my reproofs, as I am sure you must wish for Yuuri's happiness as I do. And if you do not, I insist you reform yourself.

Sir, it is wrong to be unfaithful to your spouse. It is wrong to keep a mistress when you have not been marred a twelvemonth. And it is both wrong and stupid to buy your mistress and your husband the same gift. I shall not say what I think of you keeping that gift in your chambers where Yuuri was sure to find it, nor will I stoop to calling you an idiot.

It is my hope that you will abandon all outside interests and devote yourself fully to my friend, who I am sure is more worthy of it than anyone.

Your servant,

Phichit Chulanont

* * *

Mr. Chulanont,

I hope you will not be too offended that I have enclosed this note inside Yuuri's letter, but forgive me on the basis that under these circumstances, I would not like to be caught writing to an unmarried omega. Yuuri has been unhappy lately, and I am indebted to you for revealing the cause. To think that he could think so low of me, when it was entirely his decision that we were wed at all! I cannot make out what he means by it.

I applaud your loyalty to your friend, and can assure you that there are no outside interests, that I have never strayed, that Yuuri is everything to me. I would promise to devote myself more fully, but it is impossible: he already wholly owns me.

I trust that Yuuri will acquaint you with the truth of the matter when he writes to you next.

Your servant,

Viktor Nikiforov

* * *

Dear Phichit,

Ignore everything I wrote before, I was very much mistaken. He does like pink. In fact, he likes it too well; I do not think I can ever wear in public again without blushing.

In regards to your request: my footman will deliver them today with this letter.

Affectionately,

Yuuri

* * *

Dearest, dearest, dearest Yuuri,

Enclosed are some letters, which I wrote with no intention of you ever reading. In light of your words, in light of your mistaken belief that my feelings are anything less than ardent, in light of your odd notion of kindness, I give them to you now as proof of my affections.

You speak of honor and obligation, Yuuri, and perhaps the men of your class hold these things in high regard, but allow me to reassure you: I never do anything I do not wish to. You may apply to my family and friends for further evidence; I have no doubt they will abuse me very thoroughly for your pleasure.

Lovingly,  
Viktor

* * *

Vitya,

I have never written anyone a love letter, and so must beg your forgiveness if the power of my pen is lacking. I can only say that if you are guilty of loving me in secret, I, too, began to admire you long before that night when you rescued me. I remember the moment clearly; it was winter, and you arrived unfashionably late, with snow on your shoulders…


End file.
